


Gentleman

by Kass



Series: The Sentinel fanworks [22]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Cliche, First Time, M/M, PWP, backrub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-15
Updated: 2008-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 03:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/pseuds/Kass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is an officer, but is he always a gentleman? Originally posted in 2000.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> Another pop-tart of a PWP. With thanks to Justine for the read-through, and to Owlet and Sihaya for the terrific (and fast!) beta-reads. Y'all rule.

"Deep breath, Sandburg; this might hurt." Jim pressed harder and Blair swore. Loudly.

"It's almost in! Would you fucking relax?"

"How can I--ow!--relax--when you're dismembering me?"

Blair spoke through gritted teeth. He was stretched out on his futon, naked; Jim was kneeling over his thighs and digging his thumbs around Blair's spine. Which was out of alignment, thanks to a run-in with the small blue Mazda of the afternoon's perp, and which Jim was trying to pop back into place.

The perp had leapt into the car and screeched his tires turning around; Blair had stood his ground with the gun pointed, sighting along one arm; and the perp had turned the wheel hard to the left and careened into Blair.

The attending physician in the ER said he was lucky; any higher and it would have burst a kidney, any lower and it would have cracked his pelvis. As it was he had an amazing bruise and a spine that was out of whack.

They'd given him the name of a physical therapist, who Blair had called when they got home; but as soon as Jim heard the guy list his rates he walked over, took the phone from Blair's hand, said "No thanks," and hung up. "I can fix this myself," he said.

Which was why Jim Ellison was now kneeling over his body with a bottle of massage oil, which would probably be fueling his fantasies for the next year. Jim wearing nothing but boxers, even, soft cotton boxers that left little to the imagination. And himself bare as the day he was born, because Jim had claimed it was easier to deal with Blair's spine if he could see all of it.

Not that Blair was complaining.

He'd even allowed himself to get his hopes up, just for an instant, stepping out of the shower and imagining Jim waiting for him on the bed. All things considered, an exquisite image.

But he shoved his fantasies into the back of his mind when Jim called, "You ready, Darwin? Let's get this thing fixed and get me outta here," in the most businesslike way possible.

So Jim's intentions were platonic, which made the naked backrub thing considerably less exciting than it might have been. Still. Blair Sandburg had learned to count his blessings, and an Ellison backrub—even a non-sexual one—was a blessing.

Jim hit a nerve and Blair jerked beneath him. "Damn it, quit squirming," Jim said.

"Can't help it," Blair retorted. "You're—ow!—hurting."

Actually, most of what Jim was doing felt good. Felt great, in fact. Blair hadn't dated a man in years—not since before moving in with the Poster Cop for Straight America—but backrubs like these were one of the things he missed most about men. Hard. Powerful. Reaching beneath the muscle, down to the bone.

Of course, he missed other things, too. But it was unwise to think about those at this moment, with Jim braced over his back and nothing but plain massage oil to mask the scent of his arousal. He'd never asked if Jim could smell his pheromones—hadn't seen the point in opening that particular box—but he figured, given his luck, Jim probably could.

Damn. Now Blair had another reason to fidget: an incipient erection pinned beneath his hips. God, he hoped Jim didn't notice.

"Ow," he lied, figuring a little obfuscation never hurt.

"I'm going to all the trouble of giving you a backrub and all you can do is bitch," Jim said. "Nice way to show you appreciate my efforts, here."

Blair smiled into the mattress and squirmed again, just for effect.

"You know, Sandburg, you're not exactly in a position of power," Jim pointed out. "A lesser man would tickle you right about now." His voice was colored with amusement. "Or spank you."

"I should be so lucky," Blair grumbled. A frisson of nervousness sizzled up his spine: Jim knew he was joking, right? Jim wouldn't take him seriously. Because if he did, Blair thought, he'd go quiet and apologetic. He'd make some excuse. Like it's his fault he's not into men. And then things would be awkward and it would just suck.

But he was in luck; the teasing continued.

"You're lucky I'm a gentleman," Jim said, pausing for a moment and then bringing his newly-slicked palms back to Blair's shoulders.

Being hit by the car had been a close call, and Blair was still a little adrenalized from the shock; and Jim's warm hands were fantastic, almost hypnotic. The combination made Blair reckless.

"Actually, it's the bane of my existence, but that's okay," Blair said. "Almost enough to make a guy think he's lost his charm." He held his breath. Was that too over-the-top?

"It's one of my goals, to be the bane of your existence," Jim said, dryly. "Breathe out."

Blair breathed out, relieved. Jim thought he was kidding. Thank God.

"So, what, you'd prefer I wasn't a gentleman?"

Funny; now Blair couldn't tell if *Jim* was kidding.

He had to be. Right?

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with being a gentleman," Blair said. "Opening doors for ladies, making sure chivalry isn't dead, all that jazz."

"You open doors for ladies too, Chief," Jim pointed out, just as his thumbs sank in to a perfect spot inside Blair's shoulderblades, scratching an itch he didn't even know he had.

"Ahhh," Blair said. Jim pulled back. "No, no, that's good, keep doing that," he hastened, and Jim complied.

"Didn't know if that was a keep-going noise or a stop-noise," Jim said.

Blair snorted. "Like I'd tell you to stop," he muttered.

There was a moment of silence, then Jim spoke up again. "Like I said. You open doors for ladies, too."

For a moment it seemed to Blair that they were talking about something else, that beneath the banter Jim was saying "You're flirting with me, but wait a second here, Darwin: don't you date women?"

"Opening doors doesn't make me a gentleman," Blair argued. "I read somewhere that a gentleman is a person who uses a butter knife correctly, even when dining alone, and I am not that anal."

Jim chuckled.

"Besides," Blair said, suddenly brave, "I open doors for everybody."

Blair was silently congratulating himself on handling this whole conversation so well—see? he thinks we're just kidding!—when Blair felt one hand holding him still at the small of his back, and a finger—an oil-slippery finger—*Jim's* oil-slippery finger—slide, almost proprietarily, into his ass.

Blair couldn't help it: he groaned. His cock, already relatively interested in the proceedings, woke up and snapped to attention.

Jim's finger moved in and out, then back in, and when he spoke his voice was husky, had a grit in it that Blair had never heard. It made him harder.

"See, I'm not always a gentleman," he rasped. "Sometimes I'm just an idiot."

Jim's finger twisted around. Blair made a sound of longing deep in his throat. Not really believing this was happening, he managed "why are you an idiot?"

"Because here I've been assuming you *wanted* me to keep my distance."

"No," Blair said, husky, almost a moan. "Just wanted you."

Next thing he knew Jim's finger was withdrawn; he made a small sound of protest and suddenly he was being flipped, he was on his back, and now Jim was kneeling over his thighs again, effectively trapping him. Jim whose erection was straining visibly at his boxers. Whose eyes were drinking him in like cold beer on a hot afternoon.

Whose hands—big, warm hands—were moving up his chest. Whose fingers were skimming over his nipples, tugging lightly at the thin gold ring, making Blair feel like there was suddenly not enough air in his lungs, not enough air in the world, dizzy and breathless in a way that he never wanted to stop.

And then Jim was bending, and his mouth was nearing, and then they were kissing.

Hot *damn*.

"We're going to have to invest in a different kind of massage oil," Jim murmured into his ear.

"Yeah?" Blair was breathless.

Jim nodded.

"Why's that?" Blair nipped at Jim's throat, then sucked the place he'd bitten, and Jim groaned softly.

"Because I want to put my mouth everywhere I've put my hands, and this stuff isn't edible."

Edible. Oh, God. On his nipples. Up and down his chest. Along his shoulder blades, along his spine, over his ass—inside his ass. Blair moaned.

And then Jim's knees weren't pinning his thighs anymore, Jim was moving down the mattress, and one hand was tangled in his pubic curls, and the other was returning underneath and inside. Long, deep strokes, and the other hand teasing at the base of his cock, light slick touches, a finger caress, a thumb, just enough to drive him crazy.

Jim kept him on the edge of orgasm until he lost track of time, lost track of place, lost track of everything except the pleasure and the maddening, wonderful, terrible fact that Jim wasn't letting him come.

"Please," Blair begged, fucking himself on Jim's fingers, his own hands clenching the sheets. "Oh, God, Jim, please," and then he couldn't seem to stop. "Jim, I'm—I can't—please, Jim, please fuck me, I want you inside me —"

And Jim flushed, and pulled away, and stripped off his boxers, and slicked himself from the open bottle of oil on the bedside table, and Blair turned over and raised up on his hands and knees, still whispering "please, Jim, please."

"You have no idea what you're doing to me, do you?" Jim murmured, pressing a thumb inside, and Blair whimpered, wanting more. "So hot..."

"Please, Jim," Blair said; it was all he could say, the only words left to him anymore.

And Jim took a deep, shuddering breath and pressed inside.

"Ohhh *yeah*," Blair groaned. "Oh, God, Jim."

"Relax, Chief; I'll take care of you," Jim murmured, pulling half-out and driving back in again, slow and hard. "I'll always take care of you." He twisted his hips and Blair was breathing hard, great heaving breaths, each exhalation a sigh or a whimper.

"I've wanted you for so long," Jim said, punctuating with another long, slow thrust.

Blair arched, and pushed back, and Jim's next thrust hit something so far inside him Blair's mouth opened in a silent O as he spasmed, finally, finally, finally—and as he collapsed on the bed he was dimly aware of Jim groaning his name as he came.

Some minutes later Jim pulled away and rolled off of Blair, and suddenly the futon lifted with the absence of his weight. Blair had a minute to almost-panic—what? what did I do? where's he going?—before he heard the sound of water running, and then footsteps, and then Jim was sitting at the edge of the bed with a warm washcloth, cleaning the oil from Blair's back with long, sure strokes.

"Mmm," Blair said, lazily.

And then the washcloth descended, and Jim was washing his inner thighs, and working his way up to Blair's ass, and Blair felt his cock twitch. Like it was trying to come back to life, but just couldn't, not quite yet. He chuckled.

"What's funny, Chief?" Jim's voice was low, but Blair could hear the wry undertone. He wondered, idly, how many people knew Jim's sense of humor was even there.

"Nothing," Blair said. Jim turned him over and repeated the process, starting with his chest, skipping down to his thighs, ending by wiping the semen from his cock and belly. God, that felt good. Like being washed by some enormous cat.

"You're like a mama cat," Blair pointed out.

Jim grinned. "No, Sandburg, for that I'd have to use my tongue."

Blair could feel the blush rising, but he didn't look away.

"Hm," Jim said. "You like that idea."

"Are you kidding? What's not to like?"

Jim put the washcloth down, seemed to be thinking, shrugged. "Oh, I dunno," he said. "I'm pushing forty, I'm losing my hair, I'm—"

"Fucking spectacular," Blair said, cutting him off. Jim just looked at him, as if he wanted to believe but couldn't quite. "Jim, you're—" Blair gestured in wordless frustration. "You're *everything*."

"You think?" It sounded like Jim was kidding, but this time Blair knew better.

"Yeah," he said, emphatically. "Shit, Jim, I've wanted this from the day we met."

"You could've said," Jim said.

"Um, no," Blair argued. "Jesus, Jim, how was I supposed to know? You never gave any indication you were into men, I didn't—"

"I mean, you could've said, just now," Jim clarified. Looking faintly embarrassed by the whole conversation.

His words floated back to Blair: "I've wanted you for so long..." Understanding dawned. He hadn't answered.

"I didn't know if this was a one-time thing, or what," Jim said.

And good God, Jim was *fragile*. He liked men and he was fragile: would wonders never cease? Somehow, when Blair had imagined making love with Jim—and he *had* imagined it, a thousand times—he'd always pictured Jim confident, a little cocky, aware of just how fantastic he was. Geeky boys like Blair Sandburg just didn't *get* men like Jim Ellison; Blair had been sure of that. Which it turned out he was wrong about. And now it turned out he was wrong about Jim, too; Jim didn't seem to know what an amazing catch he was. Against all odds, something in Jim was insecure.

"I was too busy having the orgasm of my life," Blair said, feeling like the universe was opening up at his feet, in his hands, on his bed. "So I'm saying it now: *not* a one-time thing, man."

"So," Jim said with a shrug, "it's okay if I'm not always a gentleman?"

"More than okay, Jim."

Jim's smile, inexplicably, made Blair ache. It was a happiness he hadn't seen often enough. He wanted to see it more: he wanted to be its cause. He scooted over on the mattress.

"C'mere?" he asked, and Jim obliged, and Blair curled around the older man, their arms wrapped together.

"Let me make myself clear," Blair murmured into Jim's neck, softly, knowing Jim could hear. "You don't have to be a gentleman. All you have to be is you."


End file.
